You Know Who I Am
by cjdreams98
Summary: Tony's thoughts during *that* scene on Titan, because I've been suffering and you all need to suffer with me; MAJOR INFINITY WAR SPOILERS! Character death, self harm mention. Reviews welcome:)


Everybody knew Tony Stark. Hey, Mr Stark! Iron Man! Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…

You just did.

 _You know who I am_ , he would think, fleetingly, staring at a stranger's face on the cover of a book, or crammed into the corner of a random paper (yes, Tony read newspapers sometimes. He was nostalgic like that. Sue him.), and it was true. Every face on the big screen had seen his on a bigger one, and every kid in every classroom across the world knew his name.

Everyone knew Tony Stark.

But they didn't know _him_. Not really.

 _You don't know who I am,_ Tony thought, desperate, scatty as he reached to catch Peter. Scatty, shaky, numb with terror or pain or something else completely fucked, and still the kid trusted him. Tripped towards him with wide eyes and a silent scream in every breath.

'I don't… I don't know what's happening –'

 _That makes two of us kid_ , he might have said, in another life just seconds ago – but not now, when Peter was crying, Peter was shaking, in pain, dying, and there was fuck all Tony could do but watch.

'I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, sir, please, please, I don't wanna go, Idontwannago –' the fear, the plea, the agony in that small voice… that was what would kill Tony. What was killing him, and he wished more than anything his suit was a little less clever, that it would let him bleed out on the sand next to this too-good, pain-in-the-ass kid.

His kid. Peter.

Peter Parker, who, for reasons science could not explain (at least no science Tony had ever studied), followed him into space and far, far from home. Trusted and begged him, even now, to save him. Went way beyond what any other kid could imagine for every stranger he met because he really was just that… _good_. Peter Parker was dying, and Tony had never even completely returned this implicit trust, just been… good, honest, without agenda.

Sure, he loved the kid and his only agenda had been to protect him, but that wasn't good enough. _Thanks Pop. The cycle of shame continues._

'I'm sorry -' all of Peters words were ripped from him half-finished now. Cut off by barely controlled waves of agony, of burning near tangible to Tony too. _I never even called you 'Spiderman', did I? I couldn't even let you have that without making fun of it._

His brain was frying, surely, his thoughts random and distant so he almost couldn't catch them. Nothing made sense, nothing existed outside this relentless stream of -

 _You don't know who I am_ , _I don't deserve you kid, and this is my punishment. But you didn't know, how could you know, you don't know who I am -_

And as he lurched forwards into the space where Peter's shivering body had been not a second before, Tony promised that would change. He would find his kid, split every atom in every universe, parallel or perpendicular or upside-fucking-down, to get him back. And when he did, he would be honest. He would do better, and never fail so colossally again. He would tell Peter how proud he was of him. He'd tell him about Howard and Jarvis and MIT, and that if he whispered 'crap' near Steve that blonde hair would bristle above flushed cheeks and a cross 'language!' would be tossed at them both. He'd tell him about his own teenage years, about wandering the streets of a new city every night with a new bottle of liquor (or two) in his hand and a new burn (or two or three or four or why even stop?) on each thigh because his lighter had never been questioned. (He'd never smoked. Were people that stupid? Assholes). He'd tell Peter that he was the best thing to ever happen to Tony Stark, that he loved him as a son.

He'd tell Peter everything, and then… he would know.

He would know that he hadn't died alone.

Though he had, of course, because Tony was freaking out with some kind of anxiety attack like panic was something he could _afford_ and the thought was red-black reeking vomit on the rubble of an alien planet as the pain coursed through him, poison, and he waited so impatiently to just. Fucking. Die.

 _You don't know who I am, but that kid was a miracle and it should be me. It should be me._

 _Let it be me._

Except -

 _Never you, Tony,_ came an impossible reply and he could've sworn the sky itself was screaming with laughter at him _: Never you; I don't know who you are._


End file.
